It's All About Me

My mother, for the most part, indulged me as a child in the sort of things that mothers indulge children in.

Like in pets.

Whether it be having to get two hamsters for my brother and I who couldn’t share, or replacing the goldfish we had won at the bazaar the night before with one that would live longer than 12 hours, or in turning the other way when I rolled a 6 foot boa in on a stretcher… my mother indulged me.

19+ years ago she indulged me by helping me climb over the backyard fence to retrieve a kitten from the overgrowth it had been trapped in.  She then indulged my brother and I by taking that kitten to the vet, dropping $300 she didn’t have on medicine for the eye infection, upper respiratory infection, and the worms the kitten had.  She then indulged us by allowing us to name this new addition to the family, because once you drop $300 on a cat you’re going to get your money out of it in purrs.

We named him Kit Kat.  He became both a jockey and a companion for our dog Pepper, and also became a big brother for the kitten Oreo I got from the front yard of a friend on the day Pepper went to sleep.  When Oreo moved on, he then became both the older statesman as well as an object of sexual desire for Coco and Soco.

Kit passed away sometime early yesterday morning… in the bathtub.  He had lost ALOT of weight over the last year or two, not unlike Oreo, and he appeared to be losing his fur in some spots.  We were better prepared for his journey to the bowl of everlasting milk… and tomorrow my brother will probably come home from his weekend in Atlantic City to bury him in the backyard with the 13 goldfish, 7 parakeets, 97 hamsters, Kira my boa, and Oreo.

Of course… in my head I like to think that he is in the corner of the kitchen… drinking from the Bowl of Everlasting Milk with Oreo and Metro… while the parakeets chirp… the hamsters make fun of Kira… and the sound of my grandmother sizzling German pancakes on the stove while DJ passes the time waiting for them at the table by playing with his utensils.

In other words… heaven.

After some contemplation I have concluded that there are some things I can accept… and some things I can’t…

• I can accept that Phillip was thrown off So You Think You Can Dance.  I can’t accept that he wouldn’t have won if it were up to America.

• I can accept that my first real attempt at writing a book in over 10 years will be an E-book on a niche topic.  I can’t accept that it may be my last.

• I can accept that the Liquid Artillery Slurpee from 7-11 tastes like crap.  I can’t automatically accept that the G.I. Joe Movie will be follow suit.

• I can accept that the tolls at all the bridges and tunnels in the city just went up.  I can’t accept the fact that they went up but no one has a clue why.

• I can accept that I’ve been consumed by things other than this blog.  I can’t accept that my time is managed to its fullest.

• I can accept that I will save the last bullet a la LeSombre style for when the madness comes.  I can’t accept that I would only use that bullet on myself.

It has been two years since that day when my world was abruptly altered.

731 days.

That number makes it seem like it has been a long time.

Yet, I can still remember standing at my dispatch station trying to resolve an issue with one of the units who had been extended for a patient.  I remember my cellphone ringing… my ex-wife’s name Pudding coming up on the screen… and answering that call to hear four words spoken from someone other than Pudding…

There’s been an accident.

Followed by four words that dropped the bottom out from beneath me and forever altered my world…

DJ‘s in cardiac arrest.

It has been two years since those words were spoken to me.

It has been two years and yet it feels like it was both yesterday and a long time ago. 

A day does not go by when I don’t think about him and the events that unfolded during that time.  A day does not go by when I don’t wonder about what decisions I could have made that would have avoided that moment.  A day does not go by when I don’t feel pangs of guilt over having not brought DJ to experience something like the Bronx Zoo or the circus.  A day does not go by when I wonder what could have been as opposed to what is.  A day does not go by when guilt, sorrow, and remorse doesn’t threaten to overtake my very being and shake me violently to my core in order to bring my sanity to its knees.

It has been two years and my life is different in many ways other than the grief I feel.

I really cannot find complaint with my life as it is today.  I am living with a woman who loves me.  I have a job.  I still have dreams and aspirations.  The last two years have gone incredibly well for me… yet this fog of sorrow persists.  It is unshakable and to deny that fact would be wrong.  This second year has not been emotionally “easier” as some have suggested it might… or perhaps my expectations were just set too high for this fog to lift.

It has been two years and I still love and miss him as if no time has passed at all…

As if to amplify my emotions, today is also Father’s Day. 

If there was ever a day for me to enjoy a day of Xanax with vodka chasers, today would be that day.

When a spouse dies, the surviving spouse is called a widow.  When parents die, the surviving child is called an orphan.  When a child dies, there is no name for the surviving parents.  This absence of a definitive label has left me wondering many times where exactly do I fit in? 

Yet I am not exclusive in my situation.  There are other parents out there… other father’s who have lost their child and are possibly just cringing at the calendar for no other reason.  The important thing I try to remember is that through the tears, the sobs, and the feelings of grief I am not alone.  Those same feelings are shared by other father’s who find themselves childless… just like me.

We still think about, care about and love a child that is our own.  Therefore the loss of a child does not change the fact that we are indeed fathers. 

It just changes the way we spend the day.

It’ll be a Xanax and vodka day, on the rocks, for me.

For those who are spending it the traditional way… with barbecues, neckties, and beer… take a minute and give your children an extra special squeeze and thank them.

They made you what you are today… a father… and you should thank them for that opportunity every chance you get.